


The Three Heads of the Dragon

by starbrigid



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Romance, Smut, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbrigid/pseuds/starbrigid
Summary: Jon Snow weds Queen Daenerys after they win the War for the Dawn. But the dragon must have three heads, and Tyrion cannot be forgotten.In summary: porn. Lots of porn.





	

 

            Daenerys of the House Targaryen, of the Blood of Old Valyria, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Bay of Dragons and the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, and Protector of the Realm wed her nephew Jon of the House Targaryen, the Snow of Winterfell, in the new High Sept of the Mother, before the eyes of the Old Gods and the New. Without a father to give the queen away, the role was taken by the unlikeliest of men: Tyrion of the House Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West, and Hand of the Queen, who led her by the hand to her newly Targaryen-styled groom. The cloak Jon wrapped around Daenerys's shoulders was black velvet with a three-headed dragon in rubies, with all three heads of the dragon at the front of the sept, though Tyrion had gone to stand a step down.

            The new High Septon himself blessed the union, and then they walked back to the Red Keep on foot through cheering crowds, who mobbed the streets for the chance of a sight of their new dragon queen and king, raining down flowers around the Unsullied with shouts of praise for their might and grace, even with the snows along the road not quite yet melted. Tyrion followed at a distance on horseback, marveling at the ecstasy that animated the faces of the smallfolk, the hysterical pitch of worship for their two saviors. Jon had bent the knee to Daenerys at the end of the fighting, given up his wartime title of King in the North and handed the lordship of Winterfell to its rightful holder in young Brandon Stark, but he had a new people who seemed to love him just as much.

            Small wonder given what had come from the north to engulf them all, and the fire and blood that had beaten back the new Long Night. Tyrion had heard red priests and priestesses in Essos call Daenerys Azor Ahai reborn, the princess that was promised. While the fire god had found little purchase in King's Landing despite the predations of Stannis Baratheon, a lifetime ago, the fervor with which the people of King's Landing called out Daenerys and Jon's name could not have been any greater if they truly believed her their red messiah, and Jon her Nissa Nissa who survived the blade.

            It satisfied Tyrion to see, a world of difference from that lifetime back when he'd been Hand before preparing the city for Stannis, and they'd stared and then surged at the Lannisters like they were demons. Perhaps many of them still held Tyrion a demon monkey, but Tyrion found the thought did not gall him as it had the last time, nor did the adulation for Jon and Daenerys while he was ignored make him very resentful. It was easier to be a dwarf on a dragon's back.

            Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion were bound in the Dragonpit, where Tyrion intended to make his way after the wedding reception finished, even though he'd paid a useless visit to Viserion already that morning. He went to visit his dragon every day, sometimes more than once, more than even Daenerys did, which made Jon laugh. "He's not going to just forget you overnight," Jon would always say, but Tyrion found himself regardless stealing from the Red Keep night after night to remind Viserion of his face and feed him personally.

            He had learned a long, long time ago never to take anything for certain, not his dragon Viserion, and not his dragons Jon and Dany either, though of course he never let them see his doubt in them. Daenerys had walked into the burning funeral pyre of all she loved in the world and emerged unburnt, Jon had fallen to a hundred knives in the dark from his own men and emerged unkilled, and thousands of the army of the dead had fallen to their dragonfire, but they were both in some ways still- trusting. That was why they needed Tyrion, who would never trust in anyone or anything at all, least of all this new and tenuous dream of spring.

            The wedding feast was a bizarre show of austerity compared to Joffrey's wedding, with its seventy-seven courses and dwarf shows. The raven carrying Tyrion's invitation to Tommen's wedding had somehow gotten lost, to be sure, but no doubt it had also been more of a spectacle than this simple affair. Still, the tables and drapes were all red and black in place of red and gold and green, the decorations an endless series of dragons instead of roses choking lions, but the reception was outside with everything in almost all the same places. Tyrion's spot at the great table was not even very far from where he'd sat at Joffrey's wedding, just a bit closer to the happy couple of the day, and Joffrey had called him right to his side to attend him after a while, too.

            As the Hand, Tyrion was almost as close as a cupbearer, and some bizarre spark of panic in his gut made him shove himself forward and insist upon seeing to the King and Queen's wine himself. He did it with grand, sweeping gestures, as if putting on a show of deference, while making sure to sip from the side of their goblets after pouring before he ever handed it over to them. There were some odd glances and nervous titters, but the guests largely took it in stride, some other bizarre caprice of the strange, cynical dwarf, whose presence was the price to pay for the new rulers. Tyrion really didn't mind stares or laughter so much anymore, and if someone was to fall over choking at this wedding, while the bells of King's Landing rang and rang for love and death, let it be him.

            It took a second glass for both Jon and Daenerys, both of which he tasted again, before Daenerys realized what he was doing, and she and Jon endeavored to make him realize how silly he was being, chiding him affectionately. And indeed, had he not just been marveling how beloved these pretty dragons were? No one would dare touch them. He told himself that every sleepless night, trying to sleep and failing at the thought that Drogon and Rhaegal were bound in chains at a distance, not at hand to respond at once to any threat to their riders, as they'd been in the War for the Dawn. Daenerys had her new Queensguard returned to Targaryen silver, and they would serve Jon now too as doubly a member of the royal family, but it was hard for Tyrion to trust anyone but their dragons to truly protect them.

            Even choosing the Queensguard had been an ordeal, and Tyrion if he'd had his way would have had all six men and one woman tortured for seven days and nights and put to questions throughout to probe all their lives, all their loyalties, all of their deepest selves to Tyrion's gaze. He'd have made and unmade them, but Jon had said that he'd cast down the Boltons already. Or Tyrion would at least only have had Unsullied wear those white cloaks, but his political wisdom had eventually prevailed over his paranoia, that and Jon's gentle teasing smiles.

            So it would be six virtual strangers and one revenant of Tyrion's brother to watch over the King and Queen when Tyrion was off away in his lonely tower, and that would have to be enough. Maester Samwell, whose presence at the wedding had made Jon cry out in glee like an unblooded boy, had commended the choices to Tyrion, and Sam had known everything up there in the far North at the end. He had to trust Sam knew as much about men as he did killing White Walkers. In their own way, the Others had been easier. At least for Tyrion, they had been.

            Lord Edric Baratheon toasted to the beauty and the generosity of their queen, as well he might given how generous she had been indeed. Princess Arianne Martell toasted to the heirs they would bear the Iron Throne, and looked in the mood to conceive some heirs of her own that night. Lord Brandon Stark toasted to the nobility and the happiness of his kinsman. Lord Yohn Royce toasted to the prosperity of the realm. Lord Edmure Tully toasted to the end of the Long Night. Lord Mathis Rowan toasted to the coming of spring. Then everyone was silent and looking at Tyrion, while Tyrion somehow expected to hear his father's voice speaking, toasting to winter. Oh, yes, Tyrion was lord of one of those Seven Kingdoms, too, he always seemed to be forgetting. He raised his glass, which was actually Jon's glass, but Jon would forgive him.

            "To..." Tyrion wracked his brain, at a loss for words, which he never was. But all he could hear was his father speaking of winter. "To Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion," he said, for lack of anything else in the world to say. Yet the cheer from the guests that granted this toast was the loudest, the strongest of them all by far, even before Jon and Daenerys started to clap too.

            Tyrion hadn't expected Daenerys to submit to the bedding ceremony, wouldn't have even if she had grown up on this side of the Narrow Sea instead of in exile, but she signaled the Princess Arianne to make the announcement and let herself be lifted by a dozen men's hands with grace. The ladies of the court swarmed to carry Jon off too, and Tyrion trailed after the revelers, watching as they stripped Daenerys of her long ruby-covered gown and Jon of his ebony and scarlet silks. Jon laughed and jostled back at the ladies who stripped and admired him, and Tyrion felt old.

            What was more, Tyrion saw Daenerys looking backwards at him quizzically, as if puzzled he hadn't joined in the custom with the other male wedding guests, as if her drunk dwarf would be leading the merriment. She was trying so hard to be Westerosi for them, Tyrion knew, and he loved her for it amidst the thousand and one things about her he loved, but Tyrion hardly felt Westerosi anymore himself. This raucous delivery of king and queen to their bedchamber hardly seemed to befit the dignity of Azor Azai reborn, but then again, compared to a Dothraki wedding, this had to be quite tame indeed.

            The guests deposited them on their great black bed and trickled quickly out of the nuptial suite, making a cacophony of laughter as they departed, stirred by the thought of the bedding and cheered by the thought of that heir Princess Arianne had referenced. Tyrion was left the only intruder in the chamber before he realized it, standing where he'd been jostled to, behind one of the great black drapes of the bed's canopy. He'd clutched the wood, carved curling in the shape of a dragon, as the sea of bodies had tramped around him, and now he was left there forgotten as the door slammed shut. He hadn't meant to remain, he knew he hadn't, but here he was, where he had no business still being, unseen and unknown.

            He meant to call out something clever right away, announce his presence with some jape to make them laugh as he left them too, but his wit left him for the second time that day, and he was grappling for words that wouldn't come. The lords had gotten Daenerys's gown and the skirts and stays beneath off her, and the corset almost all undone too. Jon's clothes had been simpler work for the ladies, and he had only his smallclothes to shrug off to the floor where their shoes lay, and Longclaw to put aside, before climbing naked across the bed to help Daenerys finish undressing.

            Daenerys the Conqueror, they'd called Dany for a brief time when she first landed Drogon in Westeros, but by the time she'd settled on the throne for good, she'd won the love of all Seven Kingdoms by saving them on dragonback, and they called her Daenerys the Dawn. The Dawn was as pure and unspoiled as the rising sun as she bared herself now, maybe even almost as lovely as the man who took her into his arms. They called Jon the Ice Dragon.

            Tyrion could see them clearly through the black silk drapes, the candlelight cutting through the filmy fabric and showing their bodies clearly, as Jon undid the final stubborn laces on the back of Daenerys's corset and pulled it off her body. Then he had taken her bare waist and pulled her to face him, and they were kissing. Jon was whispering something to Daenerys after the first kiss, and she let him strip off the rest of her garb and discard it as he kissed her again, leaving her naked too, their silken white skin all bare and pressing together.

            They were like an obverse version of Jon's true parents, Tyrion saw, the silver-headed Rhaegar and wolf-dark Lyanna, whose coupling had brought so much grief upon the realm and toppled the Targaryen dynasty. It was undone and restored by the union of the silver-headed mother of dragons and the half-wolf bastard king, fitting together as perfectly, as they kissed and began to caress one another, as Rhaegar and Lyanna probably had. No doubt the product of their union would be as fair and good and strong as Jon himself, and secure the future further, but Tyrion's thoughts were no longer on the great game, they were on the man and woman before him.

            He was caught here now surely, too late now to extract himself as if it had just been a mistake. He would have to wait until they fell asleep, though who knew with their youth and vigor if they would sleep at all, and even then, he would have to somehow not wake them and escape the ever-faithful watch of the Maid of Tarth. He told himself he would announce himself rather than look at them on their wedding night nonetheless, or at the least avert his gaze, but he found himself gaping, letting the drape fall from his hands so he could peer around it right at them.

            Jon was kissing down Daenerys's breasts, and Tyrion wondered if he meant to kiss all the way down to give her the lord's kiss. One drunken night in the true North, he'd told Tyrion all of his long-dead wildling love, and how pleased she'd been with his mouth on her cunt, and how skilled he'd become with his lips and tongue on a woman with the amount of practice she'd demanded of him. Now he must have meant to pleasure his queen with that talented mouth, warm her up before taking her fully, although it was hard to imagine she wouldn't already be sopping wet for a man as handsome as Jon. Tyrion couldn't see the pink between Daenerys's legs from this distance and angle, but he could easily see Jon was aroused already, hard from the girl or the power or both, his considerable member standing erect and ready to please his new wife, but he would take his time with her, he would tease her with his tongue until the conqueror begged him for his cock.

            Jon was not the only man hard there, though the realization sent a hot rush of shame through Tyrion. Nor did he enjoy the flush of desire that spread hot and miserable through him. On the contrary, he could feel himself giving the lie to his contentment earlier, the too-hasty judgment on himself that he had left behind the resentments of the past that had turned the very blood in his veins to poison. They were as perfect as dimly drawn legends from songs or myth, but it wasn't ancient names or Tyrion's distant memories of Rhaegar and Lyanna that he saw behind the too-lovely figures of Jon and Daenerys, as Jon licked down Daenerys's stomach and made her moan. Jon lowered his mouth down to the core of Daenerys, and she cried out in absolute ecstasy, just as Tyrion had sometimes heard his sister cry out at night, when their brother came to her.

            It was Jaime and Cersei, tall and whole and flawless and so complete without him, so completely and forever out of reach. He'd spent all his childhood watching them love each other instead of him, Jaime as well as Cersei, never loving him like he wanted, like Jaime loved Cersei. They were another pair of lovers who'd split the realm apart, another two beautiful proud and alive only in Tyrion's memories, and with just as little use for Tyrion in the end as Cersei and Jaime had held. They belonged to each other, to their own kind, and Tyrion belonged-

            He belonged in the ground with Jaime. At least Cersei was no longer with Jaime in death. Tyrion's place was at Jaime's side, and Tyrion should not have lived this long. He'd told himself he had to go on, first with Varys in Essos when he'd seen Drogon and then Daenerys and found them worth living for, to put her on the throne. Then he'd had to make sure not so much that Daenerys and Jon survived the war, but just with each day that dawned that his two dragons at least made it to the next dawn. But they were safe now, and had found each other in the one final way they had not yet, and Tyrion ought to have found his way down to Jaime a long time ago. Time to start.

            Tyrion began to inch away before he could question the wisdom enough to stop himself. His damnable dwarf legs failed him, as they always did at the most crucial moments. They'd fallen asleep as he leaned against the carved dragon, and they rebelled as he tried to drag them back to life, spiking with pins and needles and failing beneath him. He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, but knocked against the wood noisily enough that the sound echoed through the chamber. He couldn't see their faces, but he could hear Daenerys gasp, and Jon leap to his feet.

            "Who's there?" Jon called out, and then Tyrion found himself faced with Jon Targaryen wielding Longclaw and absolutely nothing else. The Valyrian steel was close at his throat in a moment, before he'd even regained his feet.

            "Jon!" Daenerys called, sitting up behind him, sounding more peeved at losing his mouth than afraid. Tyrion had never seen her really afraid, not in Daznak's Pit, not when the Wall fell, not when she faced the Night's King. He would have hardly expected her to quake and quail at the likes of him. "Jon!" she called more sharply, after craning her neck to see exactly who he was threatening.

            Tyrion regained his feet carefully, trying and mostly succeeding to pull his eyes up to Jon's face, though it was even harder for him to force his gaze that far up than it would have been for any other red-blooded living being. "Jon, it's- it's Tyrion, I'm- not here to hurt you," Tyrion said softly.

            Jon's face changed, from anger to worry. He lowered Longclaw, though he hadn't yet put it aside. "Tyrion? Gods, I'm sorry," he said, and gripped hold of Tyrion's shoulder like he often would, leaving off the fact that Jon was naked this time. "Is something wrong? Has something happened?"

            "No, Jon," Daenerys said. They both looked up, and found that she'd lay back down, easing against the pillows. "He's been here the whole time."

            Jon frowned, ever a step or two slower than Daenerys and certainly Tyrion, and turned to Tyrion for confirmation. Tyrion's guilty face was admission enough. "Tyrion? Wait- what did you-"

            "He wanted to see," Daenerys said with the voice of a queen, the same voice she had used when she first received him in Meereen. She was reclining back confidently as if she was on the Iron Throne, despite the fact that her body was unclothed, and her legs were still spread.  "Didn't you, Tyrion? You wanted to see us."

            "I-" Tyrion felt himself on the precipice of utter ruin. "Your grace- my deepest apologies- I-"

            "It's Dany, Tyrion," Daenerys said with an impatient sigh. "It's always Dany. You are our brother too. I told you the day I was crowned, and now that Jon is crowned, must I tell you again? None of us are above each other. We are the three heads of the dragon."

            "Daenerys?" Jon said, sounding as unsure as Tyrion. Tyrion wondered bitterly if he was just waiting for Daenerys to give the command to gut him with the Old Bear's sword, though there was no telling whether or not Daenerys meant to give it yet, there was that much of her father in her.

            "Come here, Tyrion," Daenerys commanded, and Tyrion stared at her like before he'd been discovered, only now he was in the grip of as much confusion as lust. "Now," she said, and looked displeased when she had to wait. "Bring him, Jon," she ordered, and Jon took Tyrion by the arm and dragged him to the bed, pulling him up onto the mattress to face Daenerys.

            "I'm sorry, Dany," Tyrion tried to say, and Daenerys put a finger to her lips, and let her legs fall a bit further apart. Tyrion could see her sex clearly now, sticky and shining from Jon's mouth and her own juices, swollen with her desire. He tried not to stare, but Daenerys was more beautiful than even Cersei had ever been, with her long sleek strong legs and gently curving hips and slender waist and the fall of her long silver hair across her small perfectly rounded breasts, where it stuck in patches where Jon's mouth had left them wet. Her mouth was red from Jon's kissing, a perfect bow that hypnotized with every word it spoke, and as always, she spoke in riddles and prophecy, on the razor edge between genius and madness.

            "The dragon must have three heads," Daenerys said. "Do you know what that means, my lion? I had thought you knew what that meant."

            "Like Aegon the Conqueror," Tyrion answered automatically, and Jon inched forward to Tyrion's side.

            "I don't understand. What do you mean, Dany?" went Jon, and Tyrion's eyes went to him unbidden and stayed there, on Jon's flashing dark eyes, the tousled fall of his dark hair, the sharply carved muscles of his abdomen and chest under snow-white skin, the hard peaks of his pink nipples, the thick muscles of his lush, milky thighs, the huge glistening weight of his cock between his legs.

            He only realized he was raking his eyes over Jon so shamelessly when he heard how it made Daenerys laugh, and quickly snapped his eyes back to her, but it was impossible not to admire her nakedness, too. He hardly knew where to look on the bed with them, a starving man with all the fruit of seven heavens just a feather's breadth out of reach.

            "He desires you, is what I mean," Daenerys said, and Tyrion expelled the breath he'd been holding, as if his shame could have gotten any deeper. "He desires me. He desires much, our Tyrion. Our golden lion."

            "Then why do you torment me?" Tyrion hissed back, no doubt quite unwisely, but he was at the point of madness himself. "I have trespassed, I admit it, but you need me to rule with you, you said it yourself, the dragon and his fucking heads, so send me away, punish me how you please on the morrow, yes, but let me leave you now to your pleasures, and me to my-"

            "Your sorrows?" Daenerys finished, lovely light eyes staring right through Tyrion. "Your loneliness?" And then all in a flash she had leaned up and taken hold of Tyrion's face, and pulled him down onto her naked body and kissed him like the world was ending that very second. He could hear Jon gasp, and Daenerys's tongue press into his open mouth, tasting him. Her lips were sweet and soft, the kind of lips Tyrion could have fallen into and abandoned himself to and kissed forever, could have pledged himself to and died for if he hadn't done all that already.

            Daenerys was the one to let him go after that long, lingering kiss, leaving his mouth open and tingling. "You don't know what it means," she marveled. "And here you are meant to be our wit."

            "Aegon had two sisters," Jon said suddenly, and Tyrion turned to see him watching them with the confusion on his pretty face all gone, turned to something that Tyrion could not quite name but which did certainly not seem to be jealousy. Tyrion was all the realms' premiere expert on jealousy, he ought to have known. "Aegon had... two wives."

            "Aegon was a conqueror," Daenerys said. "He took two to his bed. I am a conqueror."

            "You mean," Jon said, "To wed Tyrion too," and touched Daenerys's hand with his. She squeezed it. Impossibly, she was still smiling her dazzling sunlight smile.

            "I cannot," Daenerys said. "Of course not. The Seven forbid it. I cannot have two husbands, two kings. Not in public, in the world's eyes. But in private..."

            "Daenerys," Jon said, and then had kissed her hard, right before Tyrion's bewildered face, pressed his mouth onto hers with spellbound excitement. "Yes, Daenerys, you deserve two, you deserve everything," he murmured, and Tyrion could not have been more surprised if Cersei had come back from the dead and told him she didn't blame him for their mother.

            "Although," Daenerys said, pulling back from Jon to regard Tyrion again, though not without running an affectionate hand to pet through his curls, "I am no tyrant. I had not believed Tyrion desired this, but..." She pulled Jon down halfway beside her, halfway atop her, stroking his hair. "Do you, Tyrion? Would you? Would you be my husband too, my king, if not in name, but in truth? Here and now, would you make a marriage?"

            "I- I must not spill inside you," Tyrion heard himself say, too overwhelmed to speak with any subtlety. "The child must not-"

            "Have hair of Lannister gold, instead of Targaryen silver, yes," Daenerys said impatiently. _Must not be a deformed dwarf,_ was what Tyrion had been going to say, but he let her words stand. Then Daenerys smiled mischievously. "Then you must spill inside Jon instead."

            Tyrion had no words for that, could have almost laughed at the absurdity until Jon had crawled forward sinuously on hands and knees across the bed, the contrast between his beautiful flawless pale skin and inky dark eyes and curls as arresting as Shae had ever been. He took Tyrion's face in his hands the same way Daenerys had and kissed Tyrion too, his lips as full and soft beneath the dark dusting of beard on his face as the queen's had been, like warm honey on the tongue. He pulled back from an unmoving Tyrion with a smile that matched Daenerys's, still so trusting, still so young, offering himself and everything he had to give.

            Tyrion hardly knew where to start. He began by seizing Jon by the hair and kissing him again, kissing him properly this time, pushing his tongue into Jon's mouth roughly, listening to Jon moan and sigh. Then he leaned down to kiss Daenerys again, still disbelieving, still expecting either or both of them at any moment to change their minds, to stop this cruel trick and expel him like the homely little monster he was. But she kissed him as eagerly as Jon had, then kissed Jon with uninhibited warmth as he pressed the two of them together in turn.

            Slowly, they all slid onto their sides on the great bed, limbs tangling together, trading kisses two and then two and then two, and sometimes all three, faces sliding all together before Tyrion's mouth would slip down to nip and bite at Daenerys and then Jon's beautiful necks while their tongues slid together above him, all three getting drunk with lips and tongue and teeth. It felt as easy and as perfect as cutting through the air on Viserion's back with both of them flying by his side.

            It was anything but easy, though, to relax and just let Daenerys and Jon undress him between them, to allow it to happen. Neither of them recoiled in disgust or seemed to lose their desire or nerve, as Tyrion feared, and the moment Jon freed his cock and gets the last of his red and gold lion-embossed clothes off, Daenerys was palming at his hardness eagerly, rubbing it between both her soft slender hands. Jon ran a single calloused finger across the head of it, above where Daenerys was gripping, and Tyrion could feel his eyes almost roll to the back of his head.

            "N- now, this," Tyrion panted, "This is, hardly fair. Daenerys. Before I so- rudely interrupted, Jon was- seeing to you. Quite nicely, in fact. Hardly fair to- deprive you, my queen."

            Daenerys laughed, stroking her fingertips delicately over the underside of Tyrion's cock and grinning at the noise she drew from him. "Quite right, my lord Hand. I will have my due. But not just Jon. I want both your mouths." To underscore her seriousness, she sprawled back across the bed again, drawing her legs up and open and offering her cunt for worship.

            Tyrion crawled forward to oblige, and Jon did too after a second, pressing his mouth up high on the inside of her thigh and kissing her there before returning her lips to her lips there. Daenerys made the same high strangled cry Tyrion had heard from her before as Jon began to lick, and the sound turned to a full scream when Tyrion pushed in at the other side and began to suck too. It was a close fit, but as Daenerys had promised, there was room for both of them with her. She deserved both of them and more, whatever she desired, everything.

            Daenerys tasted like heaven, ripe and fresh and very willing, laid over with the taste of Jon's tongue and teeth brushing against his as they both lavished their attentions on her, tongues both pushing inside her and kissing there, too. Daenerys's cries got louder, more demanding, as Tyrion's tongue slid back out to flick at her clit once and then again, licking circles around the swollen nub of flesh and making her thrash beneath them as Jon's tongue began to thrust in and out of her.

            One of each of her graceful hands knotted in Jon and Tyrion's hair, forcing them back as the pleasure grew too much for her, letting both of her men stare up at her before pushing their faces together to kiss in her sight, as she craned her neck to watch their faces nestled between her thighs. The taste of Daenerys was dripping on both of their mouths, and it was perhaps the most sinful kiss even Tyrion had ever experienced, with Daenerys petting through both their hair and urging them to kiss harder, then growing impatient and forcing Jon and then Tyrion's mouths back down. Tyrion bit hard on Jon's snowy throat before returning to tease his teeth at Daenerys's clit again, then fastening his lips there to suck single-mindedly, again and again as her screams grew again.

            Jon nuzzled at Tyrion in between the motions of his lips and the thrusts and turns of his tongue, moaning against Daenerys's cunt, even his long dark eyelashes sticky with their spit and Daenerys's arousal. They were both lost in it, mindlessly lapping at her over and over as Daenerys gasped and swore and shuddering beneath them, fists falling from their heads to her sides to clench and clutch at the sheets as her body lifted off the bed, arching up with the spasms of pleasure that shook through her. Wave after wave wracked her slender frame, until at last they seemed to seize her fully and she was coming, yelling out both their names.

            Tyrion was thankfully far too caught up in the rush of pleasing Daenerys to worry if Brienne of fucking Tarth could hear the name that didn't belong. A year ago, high up in the Frostfangs, he'd never thought anything this good and beautiful and human would even exist for much longer, let alone catch him of all the sour, bitter, wicked people who'd outlasted their welcome in the world of the living. Yet here he was, tasting the brilliance of the only woman in the world he loved as he made her come, with the help of the only man in the world he loved.

            He expected Daenerys to tire after the throes she underwent, as she let her head fall back and her fingers unfurl to reveal that some of the fine silk had torn in her hands, from the strength of her passion as it took her. But she was a woman, and woman were stronger than men, in this as in everything, and she was beckoning Jon back atop her before either of her men had even caught their breath. "Take me, Jon," Daenerys whispered, "I'm ready for it," and pulled him atop her. Like Tyrion, Jon was still hard and sharp as Valyrian steel, to sheathe in his Valyrian bride, and he fell atop her as desperate and excited as if he'd never known a woman before in his life. Tyrion, dazed himself from pleasing and watching Daenerys's pleasure, was content at the prospect to simply watch then, and perhaps tend to himself in a moment, but Daenerys extended a hand to him to come closer too. "You too, Tyrion."

            "Dany?" Jon said in confusion, stopping where he'd pulled himself up a bit, readying himself to fully consummate the marriage. "Do you want him first?" As impatient as he was, he didn't seem resentful at the thought. He reached out and stroked his hand over Tyrion instead, trailing his fingers over Tyrion's balls and cock as worshipfully as he had Daenerys's breasts. Tyrion wanted so many different things all at once in that moment, he couldn't have done them all if they had a lifetime of nothing else.

            "He's still innocent, our Jon," Daenerys said affectionately to Tyrion, like a mother speaking to a father of their favorite child, and pulled Tyrion from Jon to the top of the bed, beside her head. "No, Jon, I want you both at once, you inside me and Tyrion in my mouth. Does that shock you, my pretty wolf?"

            It did seem to shock Jon a bit, from the perfect pink circle his lips made as they parted in reaction, black eyes huge. "Don't worry," Daenerys purred, made more languid and somehow even more confident from her orgasm, unquestionably in command. "I won't let him spend in my mouth. I told you, we'll save that for you, my pretty one. Do you like that?" Jon stared at her for a long while, until Tyrion let out an impatient laugh and Daenerys batted at his hip.

            "Well?" she went, and Jon nodded, wide-eyed. He looked as though he couldn't believe his luck. Tyrion knew the feeling. "Give it to me, Jon," she sighed, and Tyrion stared at Jon expectantly. Tyrion knew the strength in that powerful body, all the coiled power that long frame held. He wanted to see it unleashed. Jon smiled, the nervousness written over every inch of him, but the determination too, and then Tyrion did.

            Daenerys moaned both their names when Jon finally entered her. If Tyrion tilted his head the right way, he could see part of it as his cock slid into her, with none of the forcing and tearing and pain of a frightened virgin. Daenerys was no maid, she was Aegon the Conqueror with teats, and the mouths of her husbands had left her ready and open to be conquered in turn. "Don't hold back," Tyrion urged Jon, "She wants it fast," and Jon stopped trying to feed himself in inch by inch at that, just let his hips press in where they wanted all the way to the hilt.

            "Yes," Daenerys groaned, "Jon, Tyrion, yes," and pressed her hips back up against Jon's, urging him on.

            "Fuck her, Jon," Tyrion hissed, "Fuck her hard," and Jon began to do as Tyrion said, began a rhythm thrusting and in and out and making Daenerys keep moaning their names. He set a strong pace from the start, but from the way Daenerys bucked back up against Jon in response to each push, she only wanted more.

            "Dany?" Tyrion asked by way of permission, reaching out to touch her long hair, and she nodded, gasping out his name like there were ten syllables in it, panting for breath and opening her mouth wide. Tyrion took her by the hair and pressed his cock in.

            Her mouth was as warm and welcoming as her cunt had been, experienced enough to get her teeth out of the way at once despite the plowing Jon had started to give her below, responding to her and Tyrion's urging with enough brute force to start moving her body up and down the bed. Tyrion could feel the force of Jon's thrusts through the wet, hungry grip of Daenerys's mouth around his cock, which bobbed and slid as Jon shook her. Her tongue was as quick and clever as Jon's had been, flicking around to feel at the girth of him before lapping at a long vein where it pulsed against her touch, before settling at the slit of him to tease at the saltiest part, where the pre-come leaked out to fill her mouth with the taste of him.

            Tyrion struggled to keep himself upright where he knelt at the head of the bed, above Daenerys, staring over her to where Jon worked in and out of her, growling with the effort as he yanked her hips up with both hands to fuck her even deeper, bending her almost in half between them. Jon and Tyrion's eyes met, and Jon's ferocious beauty struck Tyrion all anew, as Daenerys strained with her hips and her mouth to draw both of them in again, utterly devoid of self-consciousness or guilt as she took them both into her.

            Especially in the position Daenerys was in, it was all she could do to take it, let alone move her head to work her mouth on him, so Tyrion began to fuck her mouth himself, looking down to make sure he was never close to choking her. He stroked down at her hair, like she had stroked at his, but hers was so much longer and silkier, the exact shade and sheen and style of hair he'd imagined on Princess Rhaenys when he'd read book after book of the Conquest as a boy. He knotted both his hands through it and let his cock slide out for a minute, dragged it across her lips and then her cheek to leave an obscene, sinful wet trail there before pressing into her mouth again.

            Through his rutting, Jon stared as intently up at Daenerys and Tyrion's faces as Tyrion stared at him, and gradually they fell into a rhythm with each other, Tyrion guiding his cock into Daenerys's mouth at the same time Jon pierced her cunt, though it was hard to keep Jon's breakneck pace. Tyrion had shared women with other men before, at the same time, but the woman had always been on her hands and knees, and they'd yanked her back and forth between them, rather than this synchronized thrusting, which seemed designed to make Daenerys all the more overwhelmed in pleasure and moan all the louder around Tyrion's cock. She seemed to like best when they pressed in together, and Tyrion fancied he could practically feel Jon's cock on the other side when his cock would push in a bit deeper, past the barrier of her throat once or twice, the three of them really all driven together.

            Tyrion got lost in it as quickly as he had gotten lost in licking at Daenerys, forgot his naked ugliness, forgot his doubts and embarrassments and fears, forgot everything but the sheer raw sensation of Daenerys's mouth and Jon's eyes on him, sinking deeper and deeper into bliss. It was a  jolt, then, when the rhythm they'd built faltered and Jon came into Daenerys without warning, another cry and he was spurting inside her. Tyrion realized it from Daenerys's reaction, shuddering in a different way, lower down, at the feeling of his seed filling her tender cunt. It wasn't enough to make her come again, not yet, but then, Tyrion hadn't either. Jon really was their innocent boy.

            Tyrion pulled his cock from her mouth, still hard as he watched the end of Jon's climax, which was indeed a thing to behold. Jon was as fine a specimen of a man as Jaime had ever been, Tyrion could think him almost finer and not really deceive himself much in the thinking. Jon was as reverent of Daenerys as Jaime had ever been of Cersei, extracting himself from her and sitting up carefully after he'd finished. Tyrion tried to catch Jon's attention to grin at him after, let him know that he'd done his job and officially gotten the thing done, not that there had ever been any doubt. The next king of Westeros could have just been conceived inside Daenerys, and more than that, Daenerys looked delicious with all that come dripping out of her across her thighs.

            Tyrion crawled down to Daenerys's side to swipe up a bit of the sticky white fluid on his fingers, brought them up to taste before he remembered himself, then let his hand down to scoop some more and press his fingers against Daenerys's lips, trying to press the spilled seed back inside her. His knuckles brushed against Jon's softening, sensitive cock as he did, and made both Jon and Daenerys moan in tandem. "Here, stay there, lie there, Daenerys," Tyrion intoned, with the feeling of some ritual from a book stealing over him. "Let his seed quicken inside you."

            Jon kissed Tyrion, a quick, hard push of his closed mouth against Tyrion's, then gave Daenerys the same kiss, still too short of breath and overcome to kiss either of them properly. Tyrion fit his mouth against Jon's shoulder with a more lingering kiss, feeling his own arousal grown almost painful from all the waiting and waiting and teasing, thinking of crawling back up to see if Daenerys would let him finish in her mouth, if she still had the fancy for it, or asking for one of their hands if not just his own. Daenerys studied them, then fixed her gaze on Jon with that look that meant a command was forming in that beautiful mind.

            "You mustn't be selfish, Jon," Daenerys said softly. "You may have satisfied yourself, but you haven't sated our pretty lion." Jon turned to look at Tyrion at that, though Tyrion fought to keep his lips fastened to Jon's throat, liking the taste of Jon's sweaty skin.

            "You said..." Jon trailed off, and Tyrion could see out of the corner of his eye that an even deeper flush than just the heat of exertion was spreading across his milky complexion. "You said he would- he was going to..."

            "Our Jon," Daenerys said sweetly to Tyrion, then turned back to Jon. She reached down with porcelain fingertips to toy over his thick, plump, pouty lips, smirking. "Our little sweet, you've never been with a man before, have you?"

            "No," Jon admitted, looking a bit abashed. "I've never- I'd never even been with any woman but one, before you, tonight."

            "Really," Daenerys marveled. "That does surprise me. With the things they said up in the North, of the men of the Wall. And you, as pretty as any woman I've seen, Essos and Westeros all over."

            Jon's face looked to be burning by then, all the worse at Daenerys's words. "I was with him, when he first went up to the Wall, you know that," Tyrion said lightly, reaching out to feel the heat in Jon's face underneath the stubble with his own fingers. Jon leaned a bit into Tyrion's touch, as Tyrion stroked at his cheek reassuringly, though the gesture was far from innocent, as he curled his fingers against Daenerys's and traced at Jon's lips too. "And the place was crawling full of bad men and rapers, but they all feared Jon, him and his swordplay and his wolf. Jon was an honorable man, and no man would have ever even dared try for the virtue of Lord Snow- unless he'd made it known he wanted them to."

            "Do you?" Daenerys asked, in a voice that said she already knew the answer, though Tyrion even now could hardly feel as sure. "Do you want Tyrion to fuck you?"

            It was a hard thing for nearly any man to say out loud, young or old, highborn or lowborn, Northern or Dornish or Volantene or anywhere between. It was a hard thing even if the man did want it, but unlike himself, Tyrion had never seen Jon really defy Daenerys on anything, no matter what it was she wanted. "You don't have to do this," Tyrion said, trying to whisper softly enough that Daenerys couldn't hear him, though from the look on her face it seemed she did. "I want you, Jon, but you don't have to, even if it's what Daenerys wants."

            "I-" Jon took a deep breath, steeling himself, then looked down, not willing to meet either Daenerys or Tyrion's gaze. "I want Tyrion to fuck me," he said all in a rush, and it hit Tyrion like a blow low to the gut, taking the air out of his lungs, because damn if it didn't seem he meant it true.

            "Then do it, Tyrion," Daenerys ordered, clearly pleased, though unsurprised. "Have you been with a man before, Tyrion?"

            Tyrion snorted. "Yes," he said wryly. "Yes, a man, and another, and a few dozen more at that, mostly paid." The words sounded even cruder than he'd meant them, and maybe bitterer too, so he took Jon's face and sought his eyes before he spoke again. "But none half so beautiful."

            Jon surged forward and kissed Tyrion in answer, hard, inviting, as if bidding him to do as Daenerys said. Tyrion pulled back, so impatient himself and yet more unwilling to risk spoiling this enchanted, impossible night. "You know it will hurt. Especially at first," he cautioned.

            Jon's jaw set. "Do you think I'm scared of pain?" he said, making Daenerys giggle, though at which of the two of him he didn't know.

            "No," Tyrion said, "No, I don't." He'd spent time in Daenerys's room more than a few times before, coming in late at night on state business for far more innocent ends, burning the night oil enough times that he could find it in one of the chests beside her bed with ease. It was close enough that he didn't have to get off the bed to retrieve it. That was good, having to slide down and struggle back up naked and exposed would have drawn him forcibly back into himself, into his body. He was glad he could just grab it from there and turn back to Jon, who certainly did look a bit scared of what was about to happen. Now it was almost what the septons would call a proper wedding really, in that someone was getting deflowered tonight.

            It may have been Jon's first time, but he opened up for Tyrion beautifully, relaxed enough from coming before to let Tyrion's fingers in without tensing. Tyrion turned him onto his stomach, admiring the porcelain curve of his graceful back and the perfect swell of his arse, and setting him so Daenerys could admire him too. Daenerys propped herself up more to get a better look, and she praised Jon as he took one finger then two, calling out obscene things, how he'd been meant for this, to fuck and be fucked, how he was their pretty toy, their king consort, that they would keep him naked while they tended to affairs of state, let him crawl on hands and knees and please them when they willed, even during the small council meetings, they could get him a leash.

            Jon moaned at the words, and seemed to take to submitting to Daenerys and Tyrion naturally, even with all of his bulk and strength. He whimpered when Tyrion's fingers pierced him, but shouted fully when Tyrion managed to find that spot inside him. His shock then proved he truly never had been taken that way. "T-Tyrion, gods, what is- that feels so good," Jon gasped, "Do it again," grabbing at Tyrion's wrist, and Daenerys laughed.

            "Made for it," she repeated, and Tyrion obliged, fucking two fingers slowly into Jon and watching him writhe from it, putting on a show for both of them. "Do you want more, Jon?"

            "Oh, he does," Tyrion answered. If the sight of Jon discovering this new part of him hadn't been so captivating, he could have almost been weeping from so long a wait, cock and balls tight and probably blue from it. But he was their elder, and he had the patience they clearly didn't- very clearly, as he drew Daenerys's attention to Jon's cock by pulling it up and fondling it in his free hand, showing her how Jon was already stiffening again.

            "More, Tyrion," Jon pleaded. "Dany, tell him to get on with it, please. He won't hurt me."

            "My fingers aren't enough, are they?" Tyrion teased, plunging them in and out more roughly to watch Jon shudder. "You need my cock inside you?" Jon nodded in agreement, beyond pride, and it was insane how easy it was to work him up to this, to the point nearly of begging, as if he had already wanted this, for some time. Tyrion pulled his fingers out of Jon and studied him, trying to see if he was truly prepared for it.

            "Please, Dany," Jon said, and it was fitting it was she he asked. Tyrion looked up at her and saw her right hand had gone down between her legs. He reached over Jon and batted her wrist off.

            "Now, now, Dany, you mustn't waste any of his seed. If it excites you so to see him buggered, rub at your clit, like this," Tyrion purred, and rubbed his two fingers over Daenerys's clit, parting her lips to press them both hard against the tiny peak of skin. She smiled at him, all teeth, and put her fingers in place of his after removing them. She pushed him back towards Jon instead.

            "See to Jon," she ordered, looking pleased with both of them, and especially with herself, at the sight before her that she'd orchestrated, both her toys in truth. "Before he starts begging."

            "Mayhaps I want him to beg," Tyrion laughed, and Jon let out a genuine whine at that, staring at Daenerys desperately.

            "Tell him, Daenerys," Jon whined. "Tell him to fuck me."

            Daenerys watched her two men for a long moment, as agonizingly drawn out for Tyrion in truth as Jon, then nodded. "Do it, Tyrion. Fuck him. Now."

            Tyrion would need Jon on his hands and knees, with how hard he thought Jon would want it. He grabbed Jon by the hair to pull him up, though it took a moment for Jon to understand what he wanted. Jon fell into place eagerly as soon as he realized, lifting himself up and pressing his arse up for Tyrion to take, a mouthwateringly wanton sight. "Good boy," Tyrion said, loud enough for Daenerys to hear, and pressed a kiss of appreciation to Jon's shoulder blades before lining himself up behind Jon. He could see Jon was shaking a bit with anticipation and maybe even still fear at how it would feel, how it would really be, Tyrion could watch the shudder go through his whole majestic frame as he held himself up. Tyrion slicked up his cock quickly with the oil, then he and Daenerys locked eyes over Jon's shoulder, as he guided his cock to Jon's entrance with his hand and spread Jon's cheeks to rub his cock over the rim of him.

            Jon grunted in frustration, and Tyrion couldn't see his face, but he could see Daenerys's, so he knew how that must have made Jon pout at Daenerys's new smirk. "Last chance to back out," Tyrion said, not sure if he was just teasing Jon to the end or if he really did still expect this gorgeous specimen of man to draw back in horror, terrible enchantment broken, at the thought of giving his virginity to this shriveled little ogre. But Jon practically screamed in annoyance at that, as Tyrion would have in his position, was nearly doing inside at himself, and Daenerys frowned.

            "Tyrion," Daenerys said more coolly, hand stilling between her legs. "Need I tell you twice?"

            She did not. Tyrion took that as the last bit of permission he needed to finally push in, though Jon was even tighter than he expected, a velvet vice around him. He reached down to feel at Jon's cock as he pressed in, to make sure Jon was still getting some pleasure out of this, and found him fully hard by then, pulsing against Tyrion's palm. Then he couldn't keep himself from going all the rest of the way in, fitting himself somehow despite how devilishly tight Jon was, hot as dragonfire. Jon screamed as he did. Tyrion knew no matter how much care he took, Jon would bleed, leave virgin blood across the sheets for Daenerys's handmaidens to giggle at tomorrow.

            The thought of the red across Jon's white thighs made Tyrion shove himself in again harder, wrenching out another scream from Jon, and a moan he thought was Jon but realized was Daenerys when he looked up. She looked utterly entranced by the sight of Jon being ravaged, hand moving faster on herself now. "Tell me if you need me to stop, or slow down," Tyrion instructed Jon, barely holding his own hips back from snapping into that heat again, and Daenerys shook her head.

            "He doesn't," Daenerys said. "He wants you to wreck him. Don't you, Jon?"

            Tyrion took in a deep, shuddering breath at that. "Yes, Tyrion," Jon whispered, straining his neck back to see Tyrion. His eyes looked a bit wet from the pain, but they were glazed over with pleasure too, caught up in the act and the moment, expectant, and when Tyrion checked, his cock was still a full and heavy weight in Tyrion's hand. Gods, Daenerys had been right, Jon had been made for this. "Ruin me."

            Tyrion shoved in at that, wanting to fuck Jon as hard as he could, as hard as Jon had fucked Daenerys, harder. He did want to ruin him, he wanted to live up to the expectation in those glazed dark eyes and Daenerys's too. He grabbed hold of Jon's hips on either side to ground himself before beginning to thrust in and out, feeling as if he had to force his way in each time, really push to get all the girth of him into Jon's virgin hole. But soon Jon was slick with blood, his thighs staining red just as Tyrion had imagined, and Tyrion could press in easier, speed up the pace to please Daenerys, who urged him on faster in a steadier voice than Jon, whose whimpers were barely audible.

            When he could form coherent words, they were pleas for Tyrion to fuck him harder, which just spurred Tyrion the more, to push himself to his very limit as if they were in battle, as if he were a young man with Tysha again, spurring himself to more feverish lovemaking to be sure he pleased her, but now the woman he had to please was a queen. Jon made it easy, pushing his arse back up in the air for Tyrion to fuck all the harder, murmuring Tyrion and Daenerys's names just as he had when he fucked Daenerys, staring at Daenerys as he shoved himself backwards onto Tyrion's cock.

            If Jon hadn't been so new to this, and hadn't already spilled in Daenerys, Tyrion would have told him to give Daenerys his mouth again, let them both use him the way he and Jon had used Daenerys, but as it was, he got to watch Daenerys crawl forward and kiss Jon's open, panting mouth, watch their tongues duel as his cock made Jon squeal and curse and bite down against Daenerys's mouth. Daenerys was rubbing herself at just as brisk a pace now, with her thighs stained white instead of red. Each time Tyrion slowed to catch his breath, Daenerys would bark out a short rebuke and bid him to keep giving Jon the ride of his life.

            Tyrion could feel his climax impending, as Jon's muscles worked around his cock, close to milking him empty, and he didn't try to hold himself back, just gripped Jon's cock again and tugged on it as he kept thrusting. "Jon, Daenerys," he heard himself call, his strangled voice a stranger's, before he came inside Jon, just as Daenerys had promised him, spilling into Jon's beautiful body with a full, throaty roar. Everything was all on fire for a time, the dragonfire as close and real as if it could singe them, consume them. He only just had the presence of mind, straining to breathe, to pull out from Jon once he'd filled him and push him up towards Daenerys.

            "Wait, Jon, get in her before you come, come in her again," he managed in gasps, and Jon seemed to obey. Tyrion couldn't see between their bodies from where he'd fallen to his side, utterly blown away, but he could see Daenerys's arms wrap around Jon's neck to draw him closer, her legs around his waist. Jon's hips thrust forward only once before his whole body went tense and trembled then fell limp again atop her, as they both screamed and sighed.

            Tyrion managed with great effort to drag himself up next to them. When he looked between their bodies, he could see Jon had done the job, leaving her thighs even more sticky with come as it trickled out of her. He couldn't tell if Daenerys had come again, so he reached between them, climbing half atop Jon, and fingered Daenerys until she swore and shook and practically sobbed out their names against Jon's shoulder.

            Tyrion fell then at last between them, fatigued beyond measure, as much from his disbelief still as the mere exertion, which had been great to keep up with two as young and strong as his Jon and Daenerys. "Good?" he asked Jon, more to say something than anxious anymore of how Jon had found his deflowering, but Jon had passed out where he lay.

            "He's asleep," he whispered to Daenerys, and he heard her tired laugh. He twisted to see her, and she kissed him softly, almost gratefully. "Do you think it was too much for him?" Tyrion asked, and Daenerys shook her head, snuggling against them.

            "It was perfect," she whispered, and it was.


End file.
